Since You Left
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: Without him, what is she? But without her, who is he? Most Definitely P/O
1. Chapter 1

Since You Left

Without him, what is she? But without her, who is he?

Chapter One: Where The Love Was Found

Peter

The rain on the cement outside ran off in streams. He stared between the blinds of the small café and out at the road, slick with water and reflecting the neon sign that told water-bogged and weary travelers that the small place was open. His fingers were clenched around a white cup, the warmth of coffee only a distant memory in his grasp. His eyes were hazy a bit, his focus distant, his hearing focused only on his internal thoughts, screaming at him. He was, for the most part, miserable. A gloomy walking cloud, with his self-disgust he hated the feeling of miserable, because he was feeling for himself, thinking about himself. Somehow those thoughts would bring him to his father.

His father. The whole reason he was here in Washington in the first place, he was the whole reason he was staring at the cold wet highway from a café window. Bitterly Peter clenched his hands tighter around the semi-warm mug, hoping that it might relieve him of his vision of red, the vision of hate. He could never go back to his father, never go back to Boston. Nothing good every occurred there anyway, this was just another way of proving his point. But whenever he thought of his home, his father, the red returned, the shock on his father's face, the acceptance in his eyes, it pained Peter to see that he didn't care for his anger. Maybe he was being dramatic, hoping for him to beg and grovel for him to return, maybe it was wishful for him to think that, but Peter saw nothing but cold harsh betrayal from his father, and he could never go back to him, back to his life back to-

"More coffee, Peter?" Came the flirty voice of the waitress that he had been chatting up since he arrived. His eyes swayed to meet hers and he loved their color. A green shade, beautiful in its own way, but not the way Peter remembered them. The color was off, her eyes were flat green, but her eyes were bright, energetic and so full of terror that he wanted to so badly wish away. But those eyes with those emotions, he'd never see again, for those eyes, they belong to Olivia Dunham, the only woman he felt anything for, the only woman he didn't want to leave behind without a second thought.

"Sure" Peter grumbled as the woman filled up his mug. He watched her as she did so. Maybe he would take her back to his motel, she was quite cute after all, curly brown hair and green eyes, slender in stature, much like Olivia was. He could touch her the way he had so wanted to touch Olivia, hold her and pretend it was Olivia, care for her while imaging it was Olivia. He smiled at her as she stood.

"So, does everyone get a CD when they come in this place?" he asked, staring her in the eyes. She smiled and chuckled.

"Only the regulars," she answered. He raised an eyebrow.

"And how long does one have to come in here to be considered a regular?"

"I can make an exception for you," she said shyly, "But only because I like your eyes."

She blushed and he grinned at her, sipping from his coffee.

"Where are you staying?" she asked. Peter smiled.

"The Drakes Bay Motel," he answered with a smile. She nodded

"I'll drop it by after my shift."

"See you then," he answered, watching as she placed his bill on the table and left. He watched her go before picking it up. Her small town girl handwriting stared up at him, hearts dotting 'i' 's and replacing o' s. He smiled to himself before returning his gaze to the window.

His mind drifted to her hair, golden blonde, long and straight, then to her eyes, so fragile and glass like, and finally to her stature, her personality dominating her stance, her frame slender yet still able to make herself stand out in a crowd. He was no love sick puppy, not for anyone, but he couldn't help but feel shame as he imaged her face, her eyes looking so worn and broken from the lack of sleep. He knew she cared for him so much and that made him feel so much worse for leaving.

He wanted to call her, he really did. But he was afraid she'd be with Walter or she'd be with Astrid, and they'd answer the phone and he wouldn't be able to speak. Walter made his mind fuzz, made him feel so lost. When he thought of Walter he thought of himself and how Walter had taken himself from himself, if that made any sense aloud. Walter made him lose himself, Peter Bishop suddenly becoming an assumed name of some kind, a different person. Tonight he was Peter from Boston and tomorrow he would wake up and be someone else.

The truth was, he didn't know who he was anymore. He had lost himself. He assumed it was somewhere between Chicago and here, or somewhere on a red eye flight to Montana, or a flight to Miami. He probably lost himself in some seat on a greyhound bus, his personality and identity sitting next to some strange hippie on a mission to find their place in the world. He didn't have a place in this world anymore. He wasn't sure if he even had a place in the other world now. The confusion, hurt and anger were emotions he almost couldn't handle.

He downed his coffee quickly and splayed out change for the waitress, along with his room number at the motel before walking outside, where the rain pounded the dark sidewalk. He saw his car and walked slowly across the lot to where it was parked, enjoying the wetness of rain on his neck and back and head and face. He wanted to feel now, and he felt the rain. He wanted to be someone, but he couldn't be anyone.

Whether he knew it or not, he was not Peter Bishop because she was not with him. Olivia Dunham made Peter, Peter and she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Lost In the Dark

**Olivia**

It probably wasn't lady like at all for her to be shooting down these shots so quickly in this place. But she couldn't care anymore. She wouldn't care. All she wanted was to drown, to drown away memories. Like she had with John, she wanted them to drown into the abyss of her mind, not to resurface. But subconsciously she knew she couldn't do that. The memories, twisted that they were, were the best she's had for a long time. Complex is an understatement, yet that described her feelings, her thoughts and the memories. The abandonment stung.

She looked down at the oak wood counter to her glass, half drained of whiskey and the light from the bar bouncing off it. Her phone sat next to it and she wanted it to ring so badly, be him or be Broyles, someone to tell her she was all right, someone to tell her he was somewhere. She hadn't slept in days, almost weeks, and she was falling apart so desperately. Being strong was becoming increasingly impossible, because her strength came from him and he was gone.

He was there when she was scared, he was there when she was hurt, he was there when she was lost, kidnapped, confused, the only one that believed her when she returned from the other world. But he was not here now and she needed him so badly. She just wanted to know that he's okay, somewhere, somehow, that he is all right. She could try to go on without him, unsure if she could, but she would try, only if she knew he was all right. Her mind would not rest without.

Her phone rang. Her heart jumped. But it was not his number on the screen. Astrid had called. She answered slowly, unhappily, as Astrid told her that Walter had fallen apart in the supermarket. All Olivia could say was that she'd be there to take him home. Walter had fallen apart in the supermarket; Olivia had fallen apart in the bar. The feeling of unfairness had settled in as she stood up, grabbing her phone and paying for her drinks. When Walter falls apart Astrid and her are there to pick him up, but when she falls apart where is he? He was the only one, the only man that could pick a broken, battered and torn Olivia Dunham up from the ground.

She climbed into the car and started it the engine turning over just a distant sound to her ears. She drove down the road like a zombie, eyes loosely focused, hands sitting perfectly on the steering wheel; driving the speed limit. She was so lost and she couldn't do anything about it. He said he'd be there; did he lie? She was not one for tears, she was so strong, but they threatened her eyes now, so close to spilling, so close to unleashing all her checked emotions. A full-blown break down. Olivia Dunham never breaks down. Olivia Dunham always had Peter Bishop to be there, to help her remain stable, his leaving hurt more than she could imagine, more than the death of Charlie, more than the death of John. She had to keep it together somehow, someway.

She turned down the street to the police station, the lights so bright and bouncing off the ground. A stoplight turned red, stopping her. It changed moments later and she drove on. She signaled and turned into the parking lot. She found a spot and turned the engine off. Everything she did was so disjointed, so strange. She saved herself from a breakdown by stepping out to get Walter. If Peter wasn't going to be strong for her, she had to become strong for someone else, she had to learn to move on, hard as it might be.

She had built herself a world with Peter. She had built herself a home within him. She'd never admit it, but every time he ever looked at her, she wanted so badly to say to him that she never wanted him to leave, that she never wanted to lose him. She would never admit it, but she loved Peter, as a friend and probably more. She called him that night when the attacker was in her house because she knew he'd come, she knew he'd protect her at all cost. His questioning her caught her off guard. Could he have ever felt the same?

But his leaving proved to her that he couldn't, that he wouldn't. It stung harshly, more than any bee sting, more than any slap. It was a large punch to the gut, the air gone. When she had pulled back his curtain in the hospital and he was gone, she should have broken down there. Because when he left he took part of herself with him, and that was too much to bear.

She drove Walter home in silence her mind mulling over everything so quickly that words probably wouldn't be possible. It was such a sad story, such a life to pity. Walter was so upset with himself, Olivia lost and unable to do anything, and Astrid stuck in there somewhere. It became past the point of just finding Peter. It became to the point of needing him, breathing him, feeling his warm arms and hearing his voice saying it'd be okay, because right now, it was not, it would never be. Walter's normal hum from the backseat did not come today nor would it likely come tomorrow. He was a mess as well, that much she could tell. He was so much more broken than he appeared. She tried to keep herself together, while he couldn't. She came to the house and turned the engine off, running her fingers through her hair and sighing. She could do this.

But she was so much worse, so much more lost and that was what she didn't know.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Break the Walls Down

**Peter**

She was blonde but she was not Olivia. She was pushy, but she was not Olivia. Sitting in the back of the cop car as he stared out the window at the passing scene, he thought of her. Well, both of them. Krista, he had thought, simply had stood him up. It wouldn't shock him that it could happen, he wasn't exactly the kind to have someone not stand him up, but it was comforting to know that she was on her way to see him when she disappeared. And now he sat in the cop car with a blonde haired sheriff and her curly haired partner as they drove the wet road. He was aware of how he got there vaguely, but like everything he had done so far, it felt so distant. Because he was not himself-because she was not with him.

The radio scanned had come on and told them about her body, the cute girl from the diner, and now he sat on his way to find her body, the cop car cruising along easily in the windy roads, his breath steaming up the windows as he stared out. Her voice was loud and obnixous, not soft and tamed like Olivia and yet he liked being around her. He liked being around not because she wasn't Olivia, but because she was nearly Olivia. He liked that, if she wasn't Olivia, he could settle for nearly Olivia- for now.

He hadn't slept well in days. Nightmares haunted him. He was darting between the trees, running after a beaten and bloodied Olivia, her voice carrying his name out across the vast forest. He'd find her, catch her and she'd be gone. Just how he had left her. He was so selfish and he bitterly hated himself for that. He didn't know it yet, but he was becoming something else, he was finding in himself the resentful side he'd let her bury away with her bluntness, her honesty, her trusting and unafraid green eyes-

"Boy?" came the sheriff's voice. Peter hadn't noticed the car had stopped. He turned his face to her.

"Just stay here," she said, confusion written on her stance. She shook her head before getting out of the car and walking off. Peter sighed and sat back and looked away, his eyes so distant now. He could really use a drink, really badly use a drink, actually to wash away the lump of pain that sat in his heart. But there was something else; something heavier on his mind.

He saw Newton. He could swear to it. There was no mistaking the man that nearly had him killed. His eyes were observant and distant and there was this smugness to his face. How badly Peter wanted to hit him then. But he was gone in a flash and Peter was left with this woman, this makeshift Olivia.

Cold fear ran through him then, a chill that was unstoppable. What if he came for Olivia? What if, knowing he was not with her meant he was going after her? How fast could he get to her? How soon would she know longer be safe? Peter would rather have Newton chase him down than let him near her. Maybe if he wished hard enough it would be true, Newton would come for him and not for her.

Just then the radio scanner came on and sure enough it was the handiwork of Newton on the report. It was Krista and he put the pieces together. Newton did not want Olivia rather Newton wanted him. There was an odd sense of relief that swept over him then, like this safeness that she will not be hurt. Had he come to the point where he was so far lost in himself, he relied on her memories now? The thought made his stomach churn.

He watched as the sheriff came back, his fingers gripping the bars and waiting till she opened the door. He wanted to tell her what he knew, how he could help. Maybe helping her could make him feel less bad about leaving her behind, breaking his promise, his word to her like he had so painfully. What a waste he had become. Had he become a liar and thief as well?

"Excuse, can you let me out of here please?" Peter begged as she climbed in. The woman shook her head.

"Just stay put sir-"

"No, no," Peter interrupted, "Ask if a part of her brain is missing. Ask if part of her temporal lobe is missing."

The sheriff stared at him with unease, the same stare Olivia had given him once upon a time, the same stare he had given nearly countless times. She backed from the car carefully, quietly and shut the door. Peter sighed. Her suspicion was right on account. If this was Newton it would be a problem both for them and for him. He could help, he could do something right with his life for now try to fix his horrid mistakes as a man. He could do something for someone else. He could be not his father but himself.

His eyes unfocused, the sheriff stared at him. He already knew the answer before it escaped her lips. He knew the answer even before she walked to the car. Peter was in trouble now. Newton needed him. Just like he had needed his father, Peter was now what he needed. If he only knew, if he could only know. He tried to think back to Newton, try to remember, but all that came was the frantic voice of Olivia as she tried to decide what to do. It was then Peter didn't want his father to die. Now, he could care less. Or so he thought.

He wasn't a bad person, really, just lost. As lost as a person could be when they've been told they aren't from this world. The sheriff opened the door and looked at him.

"How the hell did you know that?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Find A Way

**Olivia**

She didn't even know how to start to search for him. She'd never tell Walter that though. She sat in her living room, her lap top open and humming at her, the neon clock face glowing near her. Truth was she wasn't even sure if she wanted to find him. What would happen when she did? She looked at the glass of whiskey next to her, filled only to the bottom, but enough for her then. She didn't even want to drink now. What would drinking do now? It could not bring Peter back. Why would it bring her back too?

She had tried his credit cards. He bought a plane ticket to Miami, another to Dallas, one to San Francisco and one to Tulsa. He never got on any of those flights. She tracked his credit cards to Chicago and he withdrew nearly $3,000 from his account. His cell phone was never on when she tried to locate it. Even if she called he would never know. He could be anywhere now; he could even be out of the country. Olivia stopped moving at that thought. Would he really leave? After all he had promised her, would he really go away. Somehow she couldn't put it past him and that stung.

Bitterly shoving herself up from the couch Olivia flipped the light on in the hall. Her mind processed everything as one step for each. Everything was disjointed. At least here, at least at home she could fall apart without the risk of anyone knowing. She felt like falling apart. She stumbled her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light and standing in front of the mirror. Her eyes were flat and shineless, her hair straight and dull, her stance slouched. She turned on the shower water, shedding from her clothes and stepping into the stream of water.

Then, the floodgates opened.

She was crying, tears streaming down her face. She could breathe anymore, only sob loudly. She could not stand, she leaned against the tiled walls to hold herself up. Arms wrapped around herself she let everything go. All the emotions she had pent up, all the feelings, everything came loose. Like the sound of a building orchestra, she had been holding it all in with a breath, and just as a symbol crash signifies the end of the build, so her tears broke down her walls to her heart. She needed him so badly it hurt her. She was hurting so badly.

Olivia slid down the tile walls and curled to her side on the ground. She hated to be weak, she hated this feeling, but she had no other choice anymore. Her stronghold, the steady rock that balanced her was gone. Her whole life was gone now. All she wanted now was balance. Balance in the form of a scruffy green eyed moody cynical man. Balance in the form of large strong arms and a musky scent. She wanted nothing else now. Nothing else could matter. Completely broken and humiliated, she lay on the shower floor unable to pull her pieces back together.

The world knows the Olivia Dunham that was not scared, she did not cry. She was tough, independent, gruff and pushy. Peter Bishop knew the frightened Olivia, he knew the hurting Olivia. She was frightened now. Olivia Dunham was frightened beyond belief. She was so scared for not having him. She was so scared he was gone. She was horribly hurt. The words "I'll be here" were so far off now they could not register. Olivia Dunham needed a friend more than anything right now. And she was not very good with making friends. Only making them with Peter.

She sobbed hysterically until the steam from the water choked her voice off. She had lost all hope at dignity. How such a self-controlled woman lost herself was unfathomable to so many, yet so completely reasonable to the rest. Astrid probably knew it was coming, though she would have never told. While the water swirled around her, she lay still, trying, trying to steady her breath, trying to find the energy to stand. But there was none. She had become what she had feared-useless.

Sense of time had long since passed by her, and she waited until the warm water become cold, the steam leaving the shower before even thinking of lifting her head. Her eyes were puffy and raw, her whole body so stiff and weak from holding still. She steadied herself on her arms, picking up her body from the ground and standing up, using the wall for the support she needed. She felt better, at least a little bit. The shower may have helped, but the release help the most.

Wandering into her room she stared at the dresser. Her wet reflection from the mirror stared back at her, though her eyes were focused on a single drawer in the dresser. She knew what it held. She wore to herself she'd give it back, return it, but she never did. He never asked. So tonight, because of the pain, she wanted to feel him, to smell him. She needed to know that, even if it's only her memory, he was still there. She opened the drawer.

The shirt was old, thin and clearly worn. The words MIT were written across the front in blue, a reminder of the man he was. She smiled. He had given it to her, the second time she had come from the tank, after he had held so close, so tightly. She had been scared then, he had been there. He was always there. She needed him now more than ever. So she slipped the shirt over her head and inhaled his scent. She felt her knees go weak at the smell, the feel. It was like he was there all of sudden. She looked up at the mirror and swore she almost saw him standing there next to her, his chest bare, a wolfish grin, mused hair. He was perfect in her memory. She preserved him perfectly. Reaching out, she touched the mirror gently and whispered his name. The memory smiled at her from its spot in her reflection. A single tear ran down her cheek.

And she could have sworn she saw him wipe it from her face.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Darkness

**Peter**

Peter wasn't perticularily found of the dark. Nobody he knew actually enjoyed the dark, except one person and that was because he was a sociopath, he had no regard to emotions, the feeling that you are closing in around yourself in the darkness. Peter was not a fan of being in the night, the darkness, whether he was out on the streets, prowling around for his sociopathic friend or lying still in a motel bed in Seattle.

Darkness meant time for his mind to wander. It meant he had no control over his thoughts at this point, no matter what he thought. The night, he concluded was a time where emotions and senses were like live wires, keeping him up from his sleep. It was that, or the fact that he couldn't sleep, misery keeping him company at his bedside in the dark. The darkness created this energy that never let him sleep, but let his mind wander from his body, almost as if he could see Olivia now, that was what he wanted. He sincerely regretted that the moment his disembodied soul left.

He was wide awake in the darkness, the sound of his breathing keeping him aware, but at the same time his mind was in Boston, in a tiny flat, one single lamp lighting the living room. He could see her tan couch, her soft rug, her dark coffee table and her, white blouse with the top two buttons open, her blonde hair hanging loosely around her face and her green eyes. Only they were not bright, they were broken. There probably was a whiskey glass set in front of her, probably empty. He felt guilty for leaving her.

The dark heightens human senses. He knew this fact, and thus his emotional state was more than in ruins at this time. Even in the blackness he could feel his throat catching, sobs threatening and the moistness of his tear-ducts, just waiting for an image for his memory to muster, just so they could spill over and break him apart, even more so than he already was broken.

But there was a strange noise in the darkness, a noise sounding like a door opening and he jolted awake in an instant, tears no longer wanting to threaten his face. The darkness had given rise to the fear of an intruder, the fear that Newton found him. He ripped off his headphones, some strange melody that had kept him company suddenly sounding distant and far from his mind. For a moment he forgot about Olivia in her tiny flat with despair written on her face; but it was for a brief moment and the image returned the instant her forgot it. He looked up to be met with the face of Newton, patiently waiting, patiently.

"Secretary," Newton spoke before stepping aside. Peter's face had confusion written all over it. From the blackness moved a man, a man with stature and power in his walk, a man Peter thought, reminded him of his prowling sociopathic friend, lover of the darkness, one not to be trusted.

"Son," came the man's voice. Peter looked up, shocked to see another man, no, another Walter standing there. He was much more poised than the man Peter knew, and he was weary but for a moment. His eyes were met with relief, like this man had been searching for a long while for him.

The man, his father, offered him to return to the other universe, back to his world and Peter agreed. He felt hate for the Walter that stole him and that fueled his emotions. He could only see red only see rage then, unhappiness for his life. He thought nothing of it, until he stood and looked down at his cell phone that lay next to him on the table.

Olivia.

_Olivia. Olivia. Olivia_. Her name repeated in his head so many times, it sounded like a bell, a chant, a rhythmic reminder of some sort. It wasn't his head though; it was the sound of the beat of his heart. Every time it beat, every ounce of blood it pushed, it sang out, cried out for Olivia Dunham. It was hurting too, crippling almost and he could safely say it probably hurt more than any heart attack would, more than any stroke, and gunshot. It was a pain beyond any imaginable pain, and he was putting himself through it.

He wondered how much she'd hate him, how she wouldn't forgive him. He wondered if she'd never stop looking for him. What if she never did? Olivia would spend her whole life searching for Peter and never find him. It was because he left the universe. He could see her, years from now, broken down and shaking, so alone and weak. Could he forgive himself if she died trying to find him? Would he even remember her once he left? He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to push down the sob that wanted to escape.

He wanted Olivia there, he craved her, he needed her almost as much as he needed air. He wanted to take her with him, he wanted to keep her safe, to make sure she'd never go. But she'd never forgive him now, she'd never find him. She was going to spend her whole life looking for him, looking for what happened, and never find answers. How could he live with himself knowing she could barely live without him? Where would she be when she finally quit? Would she ever? Peter could feel self hate in his stomach, he could feel his guilt. Why did Olivia do this to him? Why did he have to care so much about her that the mere thought she would die in search of him make him want to break down in tears?

The man named Walter waited for him patiently, but couldn't shake the image of his son's face, twisted in so much pain. And before Peter could wipe it away, Walter saw the tear, a single glistening drop on his cheek.

And Walter began to doubt himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Long Way Home

**Olivia**

She'd seen the tape. She'd seen it more than once. More than twice. More than three or even four times. She had seen it, studied it, watched it, rewound it and watched it again. She had looked for the photoshopping, the stitched scenes, trying, just trying to make the feeling go away. But it wouldn't. She knew it wouldn't. As she watched the tape again, the feeling remained, the giant hole punch through her chest remained, wide, gaping and painful. The sting of betrayal so great it had paralyzed her to the chair.

Peter was gone.

Those three words held such an impact on her she could barely breathe. Carefully she blinked, slowly at first, holding back tears as she thought. He was really gone now. There was a blue flash and he simply had disappeared. Her heart felt completely empty. There was this punch in her stomach, a pain in her lungs, like she tried to scream but couldn't. She felt like she was drowning and suffocating from lack of air, yet she was still alive. She wanted to breathe but couldn't. She could barely even see.

She reached for a whiskey glass but her fingers couldn't stop shaking. She stared at the amber liquid as it sloshed around the ice. Her fingers couldn't hold it still. It made her want to cry. He was gone. Gone. Gone for good. He was not coming back. It was like he had forgotten everything he had ever told her, everything he had ever said. He lied when he said he cared for her, he'd be there. She felt like a thousand tiny needles had been stabbed into her brain, leaking poisonous thoughts and lies.

She struggled to her feet and sucked in air painfully. A strangled sob came from her lips as she moved away from her office computer to the window. She idly wondered how he would like the other world. Would she really want to go after him? After all that he didn't do, all the promises he broke and lies he told, would he really want her to come after him? Would he even care if she did? The sky outside was bright and sunny, but she felt cold and abandoned, broken and hurt. She sighed loudly and quickly caught the tear on her cheek before turning back to her computer.

And she watched it again. She didn't want to believe it, she didn't want to believe he was gone. Her eyes strained for a lie in the image, anywhere, but it never came. Her heart ached. It was growing late and she stared at the screen, her green eyes so empty and broken. Did he know what he had done to her? Maybe it was in some way her fault, she pushed away the emotions she felt for him, shoved them away so dangerously and now that he was gone, without an ounce of remorse, she couldn't help but think maybe she let him go. She hung her head heavy in her hands.

Broyles had secretly called her sister after he had walked by her office that afternoon. The look on her face could break anyone in half. He knew what she was watching and secretly he knew she cared for him but he'd never admit it. But he was worried for her and so he called Rachel, telling her nothing about what happened but only that Olivia needed help, that she could fall apart. And she was.

So Rachel watched her from the door of her office, watching her sister sit still at her screen. She never moved the whole while, her eyes watching the screen. She hadn't even looked up to see her sister standing there. Rachel moved quietly to her sister, sitting down next to her.

"Liv?" she whispered to her sister. Olivia didn't move. Rachel had never seen her like this, so still and quiet. Slowly Olivia moved to look her sister in the eye.

She tried to quickly wipe her tears, to quickly compose her face, but she just couldn't. Olivia stared hopelessly up at her sister. She didn't need to see her this way. She didn't need to see her hurting.

"I'm fine," she whispered, soothing her hair with her hands and standing up. She moved away. Rachel didn't answer her.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Rachel remained quiet, as did Olivia. Olivia looked out the window again, staring into space. Her eyes were steadying, but she could feel them beginning to water. She was strong, so strong but she just-

"Rachel, he's gone."

"I know."

"I'm so scared."

"I know."

"I'm so confused-"

"I know."

"Rach-"

"Shh," her sister soothed, tucking Olivia in a hug. Olivia buried her face in her sister's shoulder, the tears so close. She needed this comfort and yet she didn't want to it. She was the strong one, but she was falling apart. She needed her pillar, she needed Peter.

"He's not coming back," she whispered, looking at the ground. Rachel pressed her palm to Olivia's cheek and forced her eyes up to meet hers.

"Liv," she said, "He cared about you. You know? He really did. You're just going to let him go-"

"He chose this," Olivia whispered in a scared voice, "He chose this."

"Nobody chooses this. Liv you're lost, this isn't you. You're going to go after him. You have to go after him. Don't let him do this to you. You're falling apart right now. You can't spend your life in this pity party constantly. You need to realize he cares. He cares about you. You have to go get him0"

"He's not coming back," Olivia whispered, "Ever."

"You have to go get him. You have to show him that no matter what you're going to be there. He'll realize that this isn't what he chose. He needs you Olivia. You need him as well."

Olivia gave a shaky smile to her sister before turning her back to her. Perhaps subconsciously she already knew that she would go after Peter. Perhaps she had known that she needed him and that he needed her. She just needed to know it wasn't just her, that they really did need each other.

So that was it. She was going to go after him, just like that.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Poison

**Peter**

Peter was nearly one hundred percent sure he was dreaming. Nearly one hundred percent sure. But now he was certain. There was no way he could possibly be awake. None at all. The chances he was even awake were so minute. Firstly because there was no possible way he could have stayed conscious during the trip to the alternate universe and secondly because there was no way Olivia Dunham had found him. Olivia also hated the color white. But here she was, dressed in a beautifully simple white dress.

His mind had created a simple white room, a simple dark oak bed with white sheets that he sat upon. Olivia stood opposite him, her straight blonde hair framing her face and her green eyes staring at him. He was dressed in a white cotton button down and white pants, something he'd never wear either. He looked into her eyes, and even in the distance he could see she was hurting; that familiar look that she was trying to find redemption for something she'd done. It hit him hard when he realized she was trying to find redemption because she had let him go.

She was cautious in her approach, apprehensive in her stride as she came up to him. Her eyes were glittering with moisture, had she been crying? Peter shook his head. Why had he imagined her this way? He tried to stand, but he couldn't. Olivia's approach was gracefully slow, but he didn't mind. He waited for her, just like he had said to her a long while ago. Finally she reached him and she collapsed to her knees at his, her hands resting on his knees. He was weary at first, should he touch her hands or would that make this flawless recluse of her disappear forever?

"Olivia," he breathed softly, watching as the air brushed her face, just a slight movement of hair brushing back. She gave a shaky smile.

"Peter," she answered calmly, "Peter."

"Liv," he said, watching as she laid her head on his knees. He let out a shaky breath of relief. She was there and not going away.

"Peter," she said, her voice unstable, "Why'd you go? You said you'd stay, but you left. You said you cared about me."

Peter looked down into her eyes. They glittered with tears that would not fall. He'd never seen her cry; he didn't want her too. He looked away.

"I know," he answered her. He stared at the sheets on the bed. He felt horrible for leaving her.

"You cared," she whispered, her voice sounding so far away. Peter glared angrily at the sheets. Why was his memory doing this to him?

"Did you know Olivia?" he accused angrily, "You had to have known. You could see. You never told me-" the anger was boiling now, "You never told me! I walked around with this monster for twenty years and you knew!"

"Pet-"

"You knew! Why Olivia, why not tell me? What was so hard about not telling me! Don't you care?"

"I care Peter!" she said back angrily, "I care! But it's not my secret to tell! He said he would, he said he would tell-"

"Oh," Peter answered sarcastically, "You see how well that turned out didn't you?"

'Yeah, I did," she said harshly, "You ran off when I needed you, you said you'd be there when I needed you. I needed you, but you weren't there. Now we're suffering and it's your fault. Look at me Peter, look at me-"

Her fingers grasp his face and wrenched it to look at her.

"-I'm falling apart. My world is falling apart. You left me. I thought you'd be there. You told me everything would be all right but it's not. Look what you've done!"

"Me? Liv, you can't honestly-"

"I'm falling apart! You can't hide forever! Look at me!"

He could see it in her eyes. She was hurting. Her perfect mask of peace had slipped away and he could see panic and fear written on her face. He could see abandonment in her eyes and he could almost feel the hurt in her breath. He staggered a bit and stumbled backwards. This was just a dream. He hadn't really hurt her had he?

But he had. It was there plain as day. Even in his memory she was bleeding, bleeding hurt. He looked at her from his distance and she looked so fragile and out there. He couldn't believe it, all because of him, all for him. It was the mixture of self-hate and pride, she was suffering for him because of him. She was both his poison and his cure. She was both the moon and the sun. Her eyes rained sun and they also could spit fire. She was the perfect contradiction.

He gathered her in his arms and held her close to him. He could feel her breathing in his shoulder and he could smell her hair. She smelled like Olivia and he felt at home. He needed her, if only she stayed with him in her memory. He would happily live here in his mind forever, if she stayed like this, so perfectly his, his own trick of the mind, his own perfect heaven.

"Peter," she whispered into his shoulder. Her lips brushed his collarbone so gently and he melted. She pulled back in his embrace and looked up at him.

"Peter," she said again, brushing her hands against cheek. Her skin had never felt so soft as it did when she touched his cheek. He could have melted in her right there.

"I'm coming Peter, I'm coming to save you."


End file.
